Here with you, forevermore
by Russian Wolf 666
Summary: Follows from just before the fall of Erebor to the end of the journey, and maybe beyond. For those of you who want an answer to the ever present question: No, no one dies at the Battle of Five Armies. Pairings: Thorin/Bofur, Dwalin/Nori, Fili/Kili, and maybe Ori/Bilbo (not sure there yet). Also the possiblity of mpreg but that's a surprise. Let me know what you all think about it
1. Chapter 1

Bofur whistled a short yet happy tune as he adjusted the helmet on his head before shouldering his mattock. It had been just over a month since he, his brother Bombur, and his cousin Bifur had arrived in Erebor from the north. Everything had been fine until the mountain that the small clan of Dwarves had inhabited was mined dry. Some had been able to stay, but those for who mining was the main source of income, like Bofur, a new home had to be found. Erebor was a month long journey and, thankfully, very welcoming to their distant kin.

He walked over to the line he would be working on and slipped into his harness. He swallowed down the brief flare of anxiety at the thought of the infinite blackness below him and plastered a smile on his face when he faced his fellow miners. He ignored the whispered gossip about the chance that the prince might visit during the day to observe the process as he was lowered passed the edge.

The work was slow and backbreaking. Every time the line shifted suddenly Bofur's heart leapt into his throat, his mind flashing to images of plummeting, screaming, into the endless chasm. A shrill whistle sounded for lunch and Bofur felt that familiar jerking of the line being pulled back up. He gave an inaudible sigh of relief before he froze at another sound. The old pulley system creaked and groaned like always but there was something under it. He hooked his mattock into his belt and strained his ears. It sounded like something was fraying. His eyes widened and, as his arms clear the top of the cliff, he was given mere seconds to grip the rock as the line gave. The combined weight of himself and all those he's still attached to came down on his arms and he screamed for help as he clung desperately to the edge. The rock split his hands making his grip slick with blood and he could feel his joints fighting to stay in place. He knew that his mattock would offer a slightly better grip on the ground but he didn't dare remove his hand for even a second. He could hear those below him crying out in fear and through it all he was screaming for help, begging the gods for someone to hear him over the noise of the lunch rush. He screamed and pain flared in his fingers as the joints finally surrender their hold. He screamed again because he knew that someone has to help them now because he couldn't hold on. His hands slid over the rocks, his stubborn mind trying to will them into continuing to hold on, and he screamed because he was going to die before he was ready. He thought of how Bombur will be waiting at home for him. Waiting to tell him all about his day and ask if the actions of the female dwarf that caught the ginger's eye was still encouraging his courting. He thought of how Bifur will be hunched over another block of wood, working on perfecting his toys so that he can help bring in some more money. As he fell, the cry ripping through his throat, he thought of their faces when they're told of his fate and then a warm hand grips his arm and he wasn't falling anymore. The person was shouting, his deep gravelly voice barking commands and Bofur was slowly being hauled back up. He wanted to help, to pull his own weight up and help with the others, but neither his fingers nor his arms were willing to cooperate. The person that pulled him up murmured encouragement and comforting phrases and, as he was finally pulled up onto solid ground, he looked up to meet the ice blue eyes of Prince Thorin himself. Bofur could vaguely hear the other five dwarves that were below him being pulled to safety but it was all drowned out by that smooth voice still muttering soothing phrases to him. He could feel the rumble in the broad chest under his shaking hands and his last sight before he pitches forward into a different blackness is those icy blue eyes.

Thorin had entered the mine that day with his face a mask of indifference, the light glinting off the emeralds that had already been extracted created a display of color across his skin. It wasn't that he was uninterested. Quite the contrary, he rather enjoyed visiting the mines. He found the sound of the mattocks and chisels rather calming, if a bit loud. He would often watch the process with fascination, unseen by his fellow dwarves. He enjoyed how the light would glimmer off the gold, silver, and precious stones that were painstakingly extracted. He also had great admiration for the work the miners did. Willingly plunging themselves into the darkness below and risking life and limb for the treasure brought up had to require a great amount of courage. Thorin greatly enjoyed the mines; it was a small troupe of dwarves that worked in them he did not. Many dwarves had sought shelter in Erebor when the mountains of the North had become non-profitable; a great deal of whom didn't seem like they would have a problem making off with some of the treasure. Thorin had been in the throne room when each and every one of those dwarves had arrived, though only one stood out in his mind.

Thorin had been standing beside his grandfather, Thror, for almost two hours greeting the arriving dwarves. He was painfully bored and, while he looked to be at full attention, had let his mind wander while still keeping an ear open to what was being said. Just as he was about ready to pull his hair out with frustration, and hair pulling was not an activity he regularly partook in, he caught sight of it, the oddest looking hat he'd ever seen in his life. It was a warm chocolate brown, the inside lined with greying wool, and the flaps that stood out to the sides gave its wearer the appearance of having wings. It was quickly removed as the throne came into view, allowing Thorin to observe the messy mahogany hair, pulled into three braids, the ones on either side of his face somehow managing to curl upwards. The trio of cook, miner, and toymaker had bowed and laid any weapons or tools down in a show of respect. As they raised their heads, Thorin met the bright green eyes surrounded by sinfully long lashes that had been overshadowed by that hat. As he looked closer, Thorin realized that most of the strange dwarf's features had been overshadowed by that hat. The eyes were expressive and almond shaped, the slight lines at the corners speaking of a lifetime of laughter and bright smiles. His skin was only slightly tanned from the weeks of travel and, surprisingly, rather smooth with only his hands bearing the result of his work. His cheekbones were high and his nose was surprisingly small for a dwarf. Then Thorin's eyes were drawn to those lips. Surrounded by a thin beard and mustache, that remarkably seemed to possess the same gravity defying powers as his hair, they were full and only slightly chapped from the elements. The corners seemed eternally pulled up in a slight smile that seemed ready to burst into a full blown grin at any moment. As the dwarf explained the reason for their arrival to Thror, trying desperately all the while to control the thick accent, the voice washed over Thorin, easing all the tension out of his shoulders. As soon as the trio has left the throne room, Thorin requested leave as well and spent the next month searching for that winged hat and its remarkable owner.

It had been a great relief when Thorin had finally been able to sneak away from the guards constantly posted to him during the lunch rush in the mines. The only one that remained with him was his best friend, Dwalin, and even he kept a slight distance, knowing that the prince wanted some space. Just as he was about to suggest they head back before the guards had a heart attack, thinking that they lost the crown prince, he heard it; the screams for help in an all too familiar accent. A thick knot of dread settled in his stomach and it felt like the lump in his throat was trying to choke him. He tore through the mines like a madman, yelling at dwarves to get out of his way while Dwalin chased after him, curious as to what got his friend to such a state. He entered the mine just as the dwarf's hands failed him and he began to slide over the edge. Without thinking, Thorin lunged forward, gripping the dwarf under the arms, his face pressed into the worn fabric of that hat. With a start, he felt himself begin to pitch forward.

"Thorin!" The comforting aura of Dwalin appeared behind him as the older dwarf grabbed a hold of the prince's belt and the back of his outer tunic. "Get back up here you bloody idiot!" At Dwalin's shouting, the rest of the guards began to show up and Thorin quickly began to bark out orders. He could feel the dwarf in his arms trembling ever so slightly. In comfort, Thorin tightened his grip and took to murmuring comforting nonsense in the dwarf's ear. As soon as the dwarf's feet cleared the lip of the cavern, Thorin near ripped the harness of him. He winced in sympathy when the dwarf's fingers and arms refused to cooperate with him and, after noting the still bleeding cuts on his hands, carefully cushioned them against his chest. Still muttering in the dwarf's ear, he carefully removed the metal helmet and threw it into the pile with that cursed harness. He gave a soothing smile as he met those green eyes. Eyes that were far more beautiful than any emerald. Eyes that, though still harbouring terror around the edges, were shining with such relief and gratitude. Seconds later, those eyes slid closed and the dwarf pitched forward. Thorin easily scooped the smaller dwarf up into his arms, ignoring the small part of his mind that was overjoyed to have that lithe body in his arms, and followed Dwalin, who had appeared to near drag him out of the mines. He could hear the older dwarf ranting and raving, but he could only focus on the feel of warmth from where he had his cheek pressed into that odd looking hat.

"Dwalin, I…I think something's wrong with me." Startled, Dwalin whipped around, forgetting all about scolding Thorin, worried that his friend sustained some injury that he may have missed. Thorin just shook his head as Dwalin moved to inspect him. The older dwarf's brow furrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest, awaiting an explanation. Thorin swallowed hard, unconsciously pressing his face further into that hat, and avoided eye contact. "I'm not eating. I barely sleep and, when I do, the dreams Dwalin…oh the dreams." Since he had first laid eyes on the small dwarf in his arms, his dreams had been focused around him. It had started simply; standing on one of Erebor's balconies with the dwarf's face buried in the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around his waist, braiding the dwarf's hair while he sat in Thorin's lap reading to him, each one leaving him with a sense of warmth and fulfillment, but lately they had become steadily more erotic. "Is it wrong to say that, if he had fallen, I would have jumped off that ledge after him? Just the sound of his voice calms me. I feel this constant need to be close to him and, when I am, all I want to do is hold him. To be the one allowed to bury my face in his hair and neck. And…well…I think you can guess the rest." He trailed off quietly at the end, his cheeks turning a slight red. Dwalin chuckled slightly at his friend's predicament.

"I can tell you what's wrong better than any healer." Those familiar blue eyes looked up at him hopefully. "You've found your One that's all." Dwarves were all aware of the fact that their One was somewhere out in the world. It wasn't love per say. That had to grow over years of getting to know the other. It was more that a dwarf was more attracted to their One than any other. Their One also affected them more than any other. Thorin's reaction was stronger than normal but also very typical in how it affected him. Thorin's brow furrowed in confusion.

"None of the books or tutors talk about them affecting someone like this."

"They barely talk about them at all Thorin. It's meant to be a very private affair." Thorin blushed at the implication that he'd just broken an important social rule. "It's alright though; I highly doubt you can talk to your father or grandfather about this." Thorin's expression fell. Lately his grandfather had become obsessed with gold, spending his nights, sometimes weeks at a time down in the treasury. He was only dragged away when the call of his people became too great, Thorin's father filling in all other times. Since they had found the Arkenstone, those times had drastically increased. When the trio reached the healers, Thorin demanded that it would be Oin, who was the healer to the royal family, who was to treat his injured One. He sent out a passing servant to find out the dwarf's name and then to inform his family. Thorin then left to relax in his chambers for a while. The next afternoon, he was planning on having a long talk with Balin about how best to go about courting this miner.

When Bofur next opened his eyes, he felt stiffer than he ever has in his life. When he moved his hand, he could feel the bandages sticking to his wounds with dried blood. He smiled ever so slightly when he could move both his arms, though the task remained painful. He knew that his shoulders would be wrapped and his fingers in splints for a good long while and that his everyday life would prove more challenging but he was happy to be alive. And the dopey grin on his face had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the dwarf who saved him, the bloody _prince_ of Erebor, was as breathtakingly handsome as he had been the day Bofur set foot in the throne room. Nor was it related to the fact that Bofur could still feel those strong arms around his waist and the back of his shoulders, or the hot, moist breath against his ear. And it definitely did not make him shiver and tingle pleasantly. Nope, not at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**I thank you all so much for being so patient with me while I get this up. I hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy**

Bofur lounged sleepily on the cot, still heavily under the influence of a pain tonic, and let his mind wander. Bifur and Bombur had shown up within the hour of him waking and proceeded to fret over him until he feigned exhaustion. He adored them, really he did, but at times they could get a bit mother hen-ish. Unable to properly reign in his thoughts, he found that more and more often they strayed to his rescuer, his prince, his one.

When they first arrived at Erebor, Bofur had been in awe of the great halls and giant statues. Walking along to meet the king and plead for refuge, he couldn't help but fidget with his mattock and the edges of his sleeves. Everything made him feel so small and insignificant. He wasn't a warrior or a great king; he was a miner, storyteller, and amateur toymaker. Stepping into the throne room, his heart nearly stopped and he seemed to forget how to breathe. It wasn't the king that stared down at him and his family, nor was it the radiance that was the arkenstone, though it fought more for his attention. No, it was the dwarf just off to the side of the throne.

* * *

As soon as he met those icy blue eyes, Bofur felt his knees start to give and he had to fight hard to remain upright. Studying the prince slightly out of the corner of his eye, Bofur couldn't help the pleased sigh that escaped him. His one had a thick mane of ink black hair with simple braids along either side of his face. His beard was short but it suited his face. Even from a distance, Bofur could tell that the prince had the toughened skin and muscle of a warrior. He hazard to guess that that same skin was decorated with a fair amount of scars from hard learned lessons. In short, the crown prince was the embodiment of the ideal mate. Mentally, he berated himself. What could he possibly have to offer the prince of Erebor? The prince no doubt thought that he was ridiculous. He was a little on the small side for a dwarf, tall but lacking the usual bulk thus considered the runt of the family, and his features were also on the delicate side. His beard, mustache, and even hair, while considered impressive by the standards of men, where bare minimum for a dwarf. His trades would only serve to shame the prince for there was little honour in mining and toy making was only really valued by children and parents. Feeling the prince's eyes on him throughout the entire meeting, he struggled to control his accent and to say something that he hoped would impress. Despite his best efforts, his accent came out as thick as ever and he had no doubt that he managed to put his foot in his mouth more than once.

* * *

In the month that followed, Bofur's interest in the prince started to border on obsession. Whenever Bofur caught sight of him in the market, he would follow the prince's every step, simply watching him. He didn't know exactly what but there was something calming about just watching his one go about everyday life. He learned so much and yet so little by just watching him. His family, though, was getting a tad worried about the fixation and Bombur had remarked more than once that it was, in fact, a little creepy.

"Tis the only way I can be close to him and I'll gladly take all I can." He had finally remarked in a somber tone, almost unheard of from the constantly upbeat dwarf. The two had quieted after that, doing nothing more than looking on in pity. Bofur couldn't find it in himself to ask them to stop for even he knew that he harboured nothing more than a fool's wish. He would pine and watch from afar until the end of his days and, when Thorin took a suitable wife as he no doubt would, Bofur would clap and cheer along with everyone else while his heart was shredded piece by piece. When Thorin died, Bofur would follow. Passing to the next life completely forgotten or, if remembered, remembered as nothing more than a fool. He had to laugh bitterly at that. He so often cast himself as the fool in his stories. Fate, it seemed, had a rather cruel sense of humor.

* * *

Bofur sighed as his mind continued to remind him of how perfect Thorin was as well as how Bofur could never have him. He shifted around, trying to get comfortable in an attempt to slip back into the drug induced sleep when a frown marred his normally happy features. He smelt smoke and something that he couldn't place. It reminded him of the times on the road when he was younger and had burned his hand while being incautious around the fire. Whatever it was, it made his nose itch and eyes water.

* * *

Thorin wasn't really sure how he was going to go about explaining his attraction to a miner to Balin when he had gone searching for him, but he had learned a lot from the elder dwarf and had come to greatly value Balin's input. He had waited patiently until he was sure that he would be able to talk to his old mentor without any interruptions. Yes he considered pacing and mumbling curses waiting patiently, thank you very much. Thankfully, he didn't have to entertain himself for long. Someone, and he was damn sure he knew who, had let it slip to Dis and Frerin about his one and they had proceeded to corner and interrogate him on their, in their own words, future brother in law. For the next hour, he proceeded to tell them everything he knew about the miner, which was, admittedly, not very much. He had only just learned the dwarf's name that morning when he stopped in to see Oin about his condition. Bofur almost seemed like too simple of a name when Thorin thought about the effect that the dwarf had on him but, at the same time, it sounded so perfect. He was grateful that Balin picked that moment to announce to Thorin that they could now speak.

* * *

Thorin had only just mentioned what he wished to speak about when they heard it, the sound of the trees creaking and cracking in the hurricane winds. The air, previously pleasantly warm, turned hot and dry, and Thorin and Balin shared a look before rushing out to the battlements. Thorin's voice was a rough whisper as they surveyed the land below the mountain.

"Balin, sound the alarm." Thorin's eyes widened in terror as the two of them ducked down against the stone wall, the gust of wind threatening to throw them backwards; the realization of just what was upon them dawning on him. "Call out the guards. Do it now!" The young prince turned to rush back inside, halted only by his mentor's question.

"What is it?" Thorin's face was grim as he met those wizened, clear blue eyes. His voice a gravelly, anxious whisper as he named the creature that Balin had feared.

"Dragon." He stumbled backwards, before leaning over the railing to bellow the warning to the dwarves going about their lives within the mountain. "Dragon!" As if the word had summoned him, the ground shook with Smaug's roar and a blast of scalding wind hit those along the battlements in the face. Thorin fisted a hand in the soft fabric along the shoulder of Balin's outer tunic and dragged him behind a pillar just as the wave of intense, bright orange flames consumed the battlement and all those along it, tendrils licking at the edges of the pillar the prince and his advisor hid behind. Another roar shook the ground as Thorin rushed to gather the guards and, within moments, the city of Dale was little more the smoldering ruins, the terrified shrieks of any survivors filling the air between the dragon's roars. Thorin had thought Erebor impenetrable for as long as he could remember and never had a belief been more quickly shattered than the moment when Smaug's talons ripped the great doors of Erebor open.

* * *

Bofur coughed until he was sure that his lungs were attempting to force their way up his throat. Smoke had filled the corridors within moments of Smaug's entrance into the mountain and it clogged his throat and burned his eyes. The healing ward had taken a chaotic turn when the word of the dragon reached that far, with healers trying to usher everyone out of cots and to the nearest exit as quickly as possible. Bofur had fallen behind after whatever herbs had been given to him caused a wave of dizziness and it was only after it had passed that he realized he had been left behind. Trying to keep as quiet and low to the ground as his injuries would allow, the miner slowly made his way towards the closest exit. Another coughing spell seized him which, combined with the smoke, brought on another spell of dizziness due to lack of oxygen. He slowly slid down the wall, chest heaving and throat burning, as the reality of his fate dawned on him; saved from plummeting to his death by the dwarf created especially for him only to suffocate on the smoky breath of a dragon. He had to wonder what he'd done in a past life to have pissed of Mahal so. Just as black spots were starting to dance before his eyes, he heard it; the sound of frantic boots hitting stone and getting closer. He knew that the odds weren't in his favor. Odds were the dwarf wouldn't even look at him as they hurried by, but some part of him demanded that he try. So, after uselessly trying to moisten his cracked lips, Bofur cleared his throat and called out to the fleeing dwarf.

* * *

Nori had never been a dwarf that cared much for anyone beyond a choice few, which consisted of his mother and, though he'd never admit it, his elder brother Dori. So when the dragon attacked, he hadn't bothered with making sure that as many people as possible got out. He had searched only for his family. Some would call him cold hearted but Nori was not about to stick his neck out for someone that he didn't know would have his back. Dori chided him for it often, always saying that it was simply polite to offer a helping hand but Nori, as he always had, ignored his brother. Thankfully, Nori had seen his mother and brother through the exit before a pillar that had been made unstable in the dragon's initial entrance collapsed, trapping Nori and a few dozen other dwarves. Knowing that the beast could come back any minute, the tri-haired dwarf ignored the attempts of the others to scale the debris and instead turned on his heel, making for the stables. Taking a corner so fast, he almost lost his footing; Nori nearly missed the raspy voice that called out to him.

"Help." Nori stopped, chest heaving from exertion and stared at the crumpled form before him. An old brown hat perched precariously atop messy brown hair, half out of their braids and clinging to the dwarf's face with sweat. His green eyes were hazy and drooping, and every breath sounded painful as it wheezed from his throat. Glancing down further, Nori winced in sympathy. Both the dwarf's arms were in slings with almost every finger splinted. Nori scowled and mentally berated himself. The only thing that matter was getting back to his family and this dwarf would be nothing but a hindrance. Despite all his reasoning, however, his feet remained rooted to the spot. "Please." The other dwarf leaned forward imploringly. Nori grit his teeth and, clenching his fists, forced his feet to move.

* * *

Thorin was grateful that Dis had taken their grandfather off his hands once they'd reached outside. The betrayal of the elves boiled his blood, taunting his self-control with his deadly temper. He never expected the fair folk to take on the dragon. Smaug had ripped through the greatest fortress in Middle Earth when it was manned by thousands of dwarves. Was it too much to ask, however, for aid with the wounded, elderly, and children? Was it too much to ask for shelter and food? Was it too much to ask for someone to see to the safety of his people so that he himself might focus on ensuring the safety of just one? He was tempted to ignore Oin when the other dwarf approached him but Thorin had learned the hard way that it was always best to be nice to the ones who patched you up, and so, greeted the other with a carefully neutral expression. Oin, however, appeared very troubled.

"Thorin, I…I don't know how to tell you this but…we lost the miner before we got out. He disappeared. I-I don't think he made it out." Thorin could only stare in shock before a force, like one of Dwalin's punches, hit him in the gut and an iron band wrapped around his heart, growing tighter with every beat. His one was dead. The being whose voice was the very song of his heart, whose presence was the stable rock he needed to stay afloat, whose smile was the source of the only light he needed to live, and whose affection was the cure to his heartache. Thorin didn't know when he had dropped to his knees, curling in on himself and howling his agony. All he knew was that he needed this pain to stop and Bofur could make it stop but Bofur was gone, gone, gone. His throat was closing and he fisted his hands in his hair, screaming to Mahal to tell him what he had done to deserve such misfortune, that he'd right it, he'd do anything, just give him his beloved back. In the end, it was Dwalin who hauled the dwarf prince to his feet and herded him off to mourn the loss of the being that held his heart.

* * *

Nori hacked as smoke filled his lungs yet again, the arm he had slung around the other dwarf's shoulders tightened as he all but dragged the other along. He could not more explain what made this dwarf with his ridiculous hat special than he could explain why dragons coveted gold. Nevertheless, once the exited the stables, he was more pleased than he would have normally been to hear the dwarf beside him taking in gulps of the fresh air as if he'd never have the opportunity again. They had not spoken while they trudged through the mountain and they felt no need to as they reached the other survivors. Parting with a smile and a nod from Nori to the quiet 'thank you' from the other, they set off in search of their families. Looking back over his shoulder at the other's retreating form, Nori couldn't help but smile. He did believe that he had found a kindred spirit.

'_I'll have to keep a close eye on him in the future; don't want anything to happen to a potential friend._'

* * *

For days Thorin neither slept nor ate. His father and grandfather, having been made aware of the cause of such sorrow, left him to his grief. His brother and sister, and occasionally Balin, stopped by daily to attempt to cheer him up. It was only after two weeks that Thorin responded. Eyes red-rimmed and burning, yearning to overflow with tears but having none left to give, and voice scratchy and pain filled, he spoke to Dwalin who had remained by his side in silent company.

"I will never love again."


End file.
